A funny thing happened

Sean is playing on a couple of different soccer teams. On Thursday night, he had an injury that took him out of the game; the other players suggested he go visit this particular massage therapist who specializes in sports injuries. So yesterday Sean went to see the masajero. After he'd been gone a couple of hours he called me to report that he'd passed out on the table. 

Apparently the masajero is a practioner of deep and unrelenting pressure, neither solicitous nor mindful of customer requests for mercy. And so one minute Sean was cringing through the pain, trying to breathe through it...and then suddenly the next minute he was struggling to consciousness, completely disoriented,  the masajero yelling at him to wake up. 

Where am I? Why am I naked? And who is this big man slapping me?

(As Sean was leaving, the masajero said, "For two weeks, no alcohol, no sex, and no weightlifting. And what time do you want to come back on Monday?")

~~~

Speaking of the mysteries and perils of Mexican athletics, we visited Tenam Puente, another Mayan ruin, last weekend on our way to Guatemala. Like many sites, Tenam Puente has a ball court (actually I think it has more than one), an H- or I-shaped field with angled sides like bleachers along the edges. We read the plaque describing what is known about how the game was played, and we all agreed that no matter how many times we read about this game it still is very hard to picture (except the part where they behead the losers; there are enough carvings of this to make this aspect vivid in our minds): the two teams played with a solid rubber ball (heavy) and hit it back and forth using only their hips. (Only their hips??)

(Okay, I just read this description from Señor Wikipedia which was very interesting (I still can't picture it though):  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mesoamerican_ballgame )

We were the only ones at the site that afternoon. It was so beautiful. We played tag in the ballcourt and the kids got all mesoamerican. 

  

Two celebrations, a sighting, and a death

Virgen de Merced is the patron of the church and the barrio.
She's frequently pictured with chains (something about
appearing to Christian captives of Spanish
 'Mussulmen'  in the 1200s).

As the kids already described, last Sunday Sean and I made sure to get out of the house early enough to see the parade associated with the celebration of La Virgen de Merced, the patron of one of the main barrios in the center of town. People had been talking it up for days: clowns, floats, marching bands, kids dressed as angels....

But it turned out that the parade was the day before. We missed it, just like we missed Sean's soccer game (that was a different day, too) and about 12 other events since we've arrived here. Why? We misunderstand good information, we get bad information, we misunderstand bad information...there are lots of reasons and usually it's not big deal, but I was discouraged about missing the Virgen de Merced desfile. 


We heard a bit of music in the distance, though, so we trudged down the street to see what that was all about. It was a small group of people led by a guy carrying a picture of La Virgen and followed by a minimal band (drums, tuba, a couple of trumpets). The guys in the middle were bent down low over the street, and I first thought that they were pilgrims crawling on hands and knees (a fairly common sight), but then I read the slogan on the back of their matching t-shirts (EQUIPO DE PóLVERA) and saw more closely what they were doing...and I looked up just as Sean looked up at me with a huge smile on his face that probably matched my own. For we realized that they were laying down a line of gunpowder in a crack the middle of the street, every few feet punctuating it with a big firecracker of some kind. The line behind the POWDER TEAM  was several blocks long already and headed toward the church; the people in the street said lift-off was going to be at 12 sharp, ten minutes from now.

We phoned the kids back at the house and had them get ready to meet us. We all ran back to the church to be in place for the big moment. 

Wait for it....

At the appointed moment (not 12 sharp, incidentally), the church bells started ringing, and blocks away at the far end of the barrio, they lit up the line. 

It was scary and wonderful to see the spitting fire and explosions advancing down the street toward the church. I had my ears plugged but was surprised to actually be able to feel the blasts on my chest as the burn line got closer. And bells ringing and ringing overhead. 

Snacks and toys always on offer.

Wow. It was no parade, but it was terrific. 


~~~~


...And then today, a block away, a parade! For a festival of the small church just up the street, La Virgen del Rosario. We heard the music, ran out of the house, and got some great photos of a truly strange and wonderful little desfile. 

La Virgen del Rosario is another story; suffice to say
she is the patron of battles. (Talk to her before your
next soccer game.)

After her joyride, La Virgen will be re-installed
in the church at the top of the hill.

One of two bands from the congregation.

Some celestial beings, underwhelmed
by terrestrial transportation.

Parachicos! There's a long story about these guys;
we'll get into it later. Teaser: they are meant
to look like blond Spaniards.

These guys were part of the parade, too. The tall one in
the blue skirt had bottles of beer tucked in his
cleavage; he and I danced together a little.

Thrilling participant.

Team Virgen.

The hair on that particular Jesus didn't seem to bother
this sweet virgen.

So here I must note that this is exactly what it's like for us here in Mexico, every single week: mixups and disappointments powerfully overmatched by really delightful surprises and mysteries. 

You miss the parade but get the explosions...and later you get another parade.


~~~~


This is something that I've read about, but never seen: dogs stuck together after mating. Sean and I were running and came upon these patient creatures by the side of the road. 

They will part amicably, I predict.

Sean and I discussed our mutual ignorance of this phenomenon. Why does it happen? Is it bad? Are you supposed to do something for them, to help them disunite? 

Here's what the computer says: It's called "tying" and it's normal (can last from 2 to 30 postcoital minutes); some people assert that it's necessary for impregnation (for some reason I resist this assertion, but what do I know). You are NOT supposed to do anything for the tied couple (e.g., do NOT throw cold water on them, which is one thing I remembered hearing about), as they will eventually untie themselves. If you get the couple all riled up, the male could be injured, as one can imagine. 


~~~~


On Friday we drove to Guatemala to get our passports stamped. We had a bit of explaining to do on both the Guatemala and Mexico sides of the border (I just erased my boring account of it all; in any case, it ended well). And just today when I was washing dishes I flashed on a memory from that busy day and reminded the kids: when we were trying to explain the situation to the third or fourth Customs official who got involved in our case, a stretcher was carried past the door. The body on the stretcher had a sheet over the body and a handkerchief over the face. 

At the time we were so busy talking and trying to resolve the visa situation that we didn't really process the fact that a dead person was carried right past us--had died, probably, just a few minutes before. 

That border town is incredibly busy, noisy, crowded, confusing; it's in a narrow green canyon stuffed with vendors and trucks; it's full of comings and goings...but it seems we ought to think about that particular person's passing for just a minute.  Descansa en paz.

Some firsts

So many things happen every day, it's hard to keep track (or keep up with posts to share it all with you). We'll try to do better.

First, some firsts.

We ordered our first bowl of chapulines at a restaurant. Chapulines = grasshoppers.

Jiminy!

Oscar went first, of course.

Oscar declared them salty. Sean and I agreed. (Wilhelmina "wasn't that hungry" and declined to try them.) The three of us each ate a few more, delicately, but it soon became clear to me that unless we upped our intake, most of the appetizer would go to waste. So I decided to power back a small handful. "Muchas proteínas!" I said to myself encouragingly, remembering the recommendation of the waitress.

Salty, yes. No on sweet, bitter, and sour. What is that earthy, insectile taste? Umami, maybe?

We concluded that when it comes to chapulines, menos es más.

~~~
We made our first trip to Zinacantán, an indigenous town nearby. It's only about ten miles away from San Cristobál, but it seems farther. You don't hear much Spanish (Tzotzil, a Mayan language, is the going thing) and most people -- men as well as women -- wear very colorful traditional clothing (the town is known for its weaving and embroidery, and the designs are inspired by the other big industry here: growing and exporting flowers).

Inside they were having a joint ceremony:
first baptisms x 10, plus a wedding.

The men's vests have tassels in back. 

These embroidered shawls are quite stiff-looking; I don't think the
women use them to carry things (or babies) as we see elsewhere.

These older gentlemen seemed to have a special role.

I wonder what a more-traditional wedding gown
would look like here? (I bet it would include purple.)

The deafening DJ music outside the church was
punctuated by the still-more-deafening
fireworks shot out of gourds.

Sean and Oscar were investigating this closely (not me; my
 nerves were shot by all the noise) and I think they said
gunpowder was packed into this tube.

I think the guy holds the gourd that holds
the tube that holds the gunpowder? Then, kaboom.
(Oscar just confirmed this and notes that the
mallet is used to pack the powder into the tube.)

Oscar and Sean were not the only boys
interested in the fireworks.

~~~
We celebrated our first Mexican Independence Day, Saturday, September 15.

A week before the holiday, we thought these were
very early Christmas decorations.

Viva México! this man said to us.

A fabric store suggested patriotic couture.

Relevance unknown.

There were lots of school and military bands.
We missed them all (we slept in) but are assured
that we'll have another crack at it on November 20,
the Day of the Revolution.

My favorite part of the holiday was the ceremony at the kids' school. Wilhelmina correctly predicted that I would be particularly charmed by the little girl who carried the flag: wears glasses, watches her feet when she walks...who can resist her? So I am repurposing the video that Wilhelmina already has on her blog; I can't get enough of it. See if you can pick out Wilhelmina and Oscar in the background....

~~~

Cowjie made his first kill.

Later, the tail went missing.

~~~
Also: Wilhelmina became the first person in our family to hold political office. (She was voted president of the school.) Oscar had his first soccer game.  (He said he had fun, despite what he termed "a bitter defeat.") Sean started volunteering (he is already in demand at several places) and my book got its first prepublication review (it was good!).

And finally: we had our first up-close-and-personal bat encounter. Wilhelmina was the first to wake up and discover the creature flapping around downstairs. This video is poorly shot and probably dull, and I am sorry for the sounds of my intermittent gagging, but it does show Sean's heroic if futile efforts to evacuate the thing. (Eventually the bat found its own way out the door.)

In which Oscar is busted, and we discuss the smells of our auras

At dinner Thursday night, Oscar looked up and said,

"I love Mexico." 

Pause. Happy looks all around the table.
Then a cloud across Oscar's expression...then the light breaking through again suddenly....

"But next year when people ask me about Mexico, I'm going to tell them I didn't like it. 

I hate the way people at home were all, 'You're going to LOVE Mexico!!!!'"

~~~

The kids are reading a book that somehow involves auras that somehow bear fragrance.
What would our auras smell like?

Oscar: burnt fireworks
Wilhelmina: mango
Kirstin: cinnamon
Sean: baking soda or rubber gloves (?)

If you're reading this, there's a good chance we discussed your aural odor, too. (No kidding. We have time for this kind of thing.) Email the kids for a personalized assessment---it's free!

~~~~
Every week, we learn more at the market. Today we focus on fauna.

The chicken is even fresher
than we'd previously realized.

Turkey is available, too.
Start chasing your Thanksgiving order now?

Head's up.

About that last photo: Memo, our tutor, recently revealed to us the substance of a "taco de cabeza" -- an option we "enjoyed" somewhere near Morelia (we were a little lost on some road not the major highway, hungry and stressed) on our drive here. It's not brain, exactly  (this was my theory after having a few bites), but rather ground beef. Of the head only. So yes, okay, it's brains...but so much more! All ground up.

Memo asserts that when it comes to tacos de cabeza, which have a distinct taste, "you either either love them or you hate them." Memo loves them. (And we love Memo.) Sean and Oscar didn't mind them. I ate one. Wilhelmina ate none. We love Memo.

Bits and pieces from a busy week (or two)

Monument to the Niños Héroes.

The two biggest recent happenings were a wonderful visit from our friends (Sarah, Adelaide, Mathilda, and Tom) and the start of the kids' school year. Given the impossibility of doing justice to either of these landmark events, we offer instead a selection of superficial observations and things about which we have photos or other electronic media to share.

First, the friends! We were really looking forward to showing them around, but I was thinking this morning that they showed us a lot of new things here, too. (Kale cakes...guayaba fruit...yum.) Add in Sarah's superior Spanish and previous experience working in Latin America...well, we learned a lot hosting them, and it was so fun.

We went to Palenque...

More than 1,000 years ago,
this was a swinging Mayan metropolis.
Now, más verde.

View of Pakal's tomb from inside the palace.

Divine portrait.

The ruins were beautiful and fascinating, but it's possible the kids preferred the hotel pool.

Ruins or pool? Okay...pool. 

A spasm of decadence
in advance of the 2012 Mayan apocalypse.

Apocalypse? Blammo!
Not going gentle into that good night.

The jungle around Palenque feels intensely alive. Both nights we heard howler monkeys. Someone told me it's the bones in their throat that make this sound possible. I may have misunderstood the guy, and anatomically "throat bones" may not be possible...but I can easily imagine this awe-inspring roar coming from deep inside a chamber of bones.

This link should take you to an audio clip of the howler monkeys we heard: HowlerMonkeyHowls


On the drive home from Palenque, we stopped at a river to swim with the devil fish.

These black "devil fish" are all over the bottom of the river.
Creepy but cool.

It's the rainy season, and the water was high. Glad the
kids are all strong swimmers....

Going native. (First step: getting all black and white.)

The Monday after we returned from Palenque, the kids started school at DICET (acronym for "Desarollo Integrale Con Excelencia Total" which just HAS to sound less fascist to native Spanish speakers and in truth seems like a great place).

First day of school 2012.

I don't know quite where to start talking about this aspect of the kids' experience; maybe I don't need to say much, since they are both covering the school beat pretty thoroughly on their own blogs. (Well, Wilhemina is covering it; Oscar is mostly discussing the food he's eating, as Susan noted).

But I do have to say that as the new Spanish words and sayings flow into (and out of) my brain every day, the phrase "Niños Héroes" keeps bobbing to the surface of my thoughts. Our niños  are handling this challenge -- new school, second language, unknown social scene -- heroically.

In Mexico there are numerous streets, school, monuments, etc. named after the Niños Héroes. As Señor Wikipedia explains:

The Niños Héroes (in English: Boy Heroes), also known as the Heroic Cadets or Boy Soldiers, 

were six Mexican teenage military cadets. These cadets died defending Mexico atMexico City's 

Chapultepec Castle (then serving as the Mexican Army's military academy) from invading U.S. forces 

in the 13 September 1847 Battle of Chapultepec, during theMexican–American War. 

One of the cadets, Juan Escutia, wrapped himself with the Mexican flag and jumped from the 

roof of the castle to keep it from falling into enemy hands.

Nobody's ready to wrap themselves in a flag anytime soon, and no one's going to die of social awkwardness or low comprehension or scholastic challenges here, but still. I feel really proud of the kids.

Misterios de nuestra vida mexicana

Misteriosa....

Here are a few of the mysteries we've enjoyed solving and not solving:

1. El misterio de la luz roja. Why, in the early evening, do small red lanterns appear outside certain homes? They're pretty, they cast a friendly glow against the creeping twilight...but what do they mean?

They mean: tamales for sale.

Our tutor, Memo, laughingly told us that when he first moved here from his home town, he, too was perplexed by these lanterns. Where he comes from, a red light indicates a house of ill repute. When a friend supplied the local meaning, Memo was taken aback his friend's vulgarity; tamale is a euphemism, too, it seems. So he was really amused when he got further clarification: No, not THAT kind of tamale!

2. El misterio del campanero. Who is that muchacho wearing an orange-colored vest--he who walks the streets at night ringing a bell? He looks so sad....

He is: the trash reaper (the grime reaper?).

Trash is picked up every night here in our neighborhood; you just take your plastic bags to the designated corner and the truck comes and picks them all up. But you have to time it right; no one wants the street dogs to rip into the trash bags, so you want to put it out just before the truck comes. How do you know when the truck is coming down your street? You hear the trash reaper, ringing his bell.

Memo said that everyone, everywhere in Chiapas (maybe in all Mexico?)  knows this sound and has been programmed to react immediately. He finds it funny that, every night at the sound of the bell, everyone starts scurrying around grabbing bags, finishing up a little sweeping, rushing to the street.....  As he points out, the truck will come again tomorrow; it's  not the last time ever. It's not the apocalypse, we agreed, not the Trash Rapture (el Rapto)! Still, every night the bell tolls for thee.

3. El misterio de la fregona. We have two string mops to clean our tile floors. I was excited to try them out; it looks cool when other people use them. But problems arose. The strings: tended to clump into two or three dirty dreadlocks. The coverage: limited to the narrow band of wetness I could achieve by dragging my clumped fregona-dreads across the tile. The rinsing: impossible to evaluate efficacy thereof (the bucket has a little strainer that you load the dreads into and push down on as if to make a dirty tea below). The corners of the floor: scarcely tickled by the flung strings of the fregona, despite repeated focused effort on my part. Will I ever learn to use this kind of mop competently? I really admire the way some people here can, with a flick of the wrist,  manage to shoot the mop strings into the corners of the floor the way a toad gets a fly: ZOT!

This is an unsolved mystery so far. Suggestions gladly accepted.

4. El misterio de la Casa del Misterio. Around the corner from our house is....the House of Mystery. This is a BIG house that has tape across all the gates---SEGURADO (secured)---and a police car out front 24/7. Why? What horrors have occurred there, what acts of unspeakable wrongdoing?

Possible flat tire, front left.

This is also an unsolved mystery. We're thinking of asking Memo to walk down there and (politely!) inquire of the policeman.